


The Anti-Horticulturist Traveling Roadshow

by PandaFlower



Category: Naruto
Genre: Bit short too, Gen, Hashirama is not a plant monster, I guess you could consider this part of IzuTobi week, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied MadaHashi - Freeform, Izuna no, Might be inspired to expand it later I don't know, Slightly crack I'm sorry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower
Summary: (A.K.A. Izuna has no idea what's going on)A time-traveling Tobirama tries to recruit Izuna to go kill Zetsu. There are misunderstandings.





	The Anti-Horticulturist Traveling Roadshow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RinRin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinRin/gifts).



It was over.

He wondered if he repeated it often enough it would actually _feel_ true.

_It’soverit’soverit’soverit’sover—_

Their part was done. Over with. Their assistance needed no longer. The pain of their generation, spilling over like a broken dam, finally contained at the source though the damage still remained, the floodplains still flush with blood.

Old blood. Old blood that would dry and sink into the earth to be no more. New life springing from death, covering the scars, fading the memories, time taking the sting out of old wounds.

It was as it should be.

The bliss of oblivion had barely begun to unfold, the false construct tying him to unnatural unlife dissolving, when pain bloomed across his face and he was thrown back. Light flashed in his eyes as gloomy night warred with bright day before it finally settled, his furious opponent coming into focus. Like a dream repeated too often, a memory so ingrained in his bones it took no higher thought, a water dragon wove into being and launched itself at the incoming fireball.

It’s the steam that fully startles him of out his surprise, makes the world stop shifting under his feet. He can _feel_ the heat and moisture in the air, feel the bruise surfacing on his face, the rock under his hands. This is not another instance of undeath at another’s bidding. It’s not a memory come to torment him.

This is real.

Here at the turning point where for once, he was holding the script. Him and no one else.

It probably shouldn’t make him grin so much.

He’s moving before his opponent can do more than raise his sword, a whole brace of kunai sailing through the air. They’re dodged as easily as he remembers, his opponent angling himself into the perfect position. He grips his sword and with nary a thought—

—it’s the easiest thing in the world to fake a stumble from the speed of the Hiraishin. The sword skittering against flesh instead of thrusting through. Izuna still goes down with a cry and a spill of blood but the wound is much, much shallower, still within the realm of treatable by the Uchiha medics’ standards.

After that is like a script playing out; Madara rushing to his brother’s side with a roar of denial, Hashirama offering his skills as a healer, their adamant refusal and retreat. The uncertain sense of victory from their own side.

This time though, this time he can truthfully assure his brother that it isn’t a mortal wound. He can look his brother in the eye and say with all confidence that Izuna will survive and peace with the Uchiha is still possible. That Madara is not beyond his reach yet.

In his mind’s eye the newly inscribed seal etched on Izuna’s ribs glowed like a dim ember, like a promise of conflagration if only someone were there to tend it.

This time, Tobirama will make sure.

* * *

 One minute Izuna is just minding his own business, moodily repressing the urge to poke at his throbbing new scar, the next Senju Tobirama is leaning over him with a terrifyingly intent expression and everything was overtaken by a flash of yellow light.

He hit the ground with an instinctive roll, throwing himself away. Then he rolled over a rock and ruined his momentum by jerking up with a yelp, hand clasped to his ribs. Ever conscious of the murderous Senju in the vicinity he tried to disguise it by getting his bare feet under him like he meant to do that the whole time.

Instead of the expected blow the Senju was just standing there, head tilted and examining him like a bug in a jar. Wondering if he can shake it, no doubt, Izuna thought with a repressed shudder.

“Come to finish the job, Senju?” Izuna spat, backing up more. “I bet it burns to know you stumbled on the battlefield like a schoolboy.”

Tobirama said nothing, let the silence drag until it was awkward. At least, Izuna thought it was awkward. Who knows if the icy bastard even possessed the capacity to feel such an empathetic emotion as awkwardness. He certainly didn’t feel anything else worth mentioning.

“You’re younger than I remember,” Tobirama finally said, and Izuna choked.

“Excuse me?” He said incredulously, standing up properly. “We’re the same age. I’m older than you even!”

“Younger than I remember,” Tobirama repeated tonelessly, like Izuna had never even spoken. “I don’t think I like it.”

“I don’t give a good damn what you don’t like, Senju,” Izuna spat fed up with this cryptic bullshit. It was no business of his if his rival was even more cracked than usual. “When my brother finds out you killed me he’ll salt the earth with your ashes—”

“Spare me the diatribe, Uchiha, we have more important things to do,” Tobirama interrupted. rolling his eyes.

Another Tobirama flashed into existence next to Izuna and he turned with his elbow leading, determined to _hit something_. Said copy retaliated by throwing a familiar robe in his face and shoving a travel pack at his gut before popping in a cloud of smoke. Izuna wrenched the robe off, gaping in horror at the full pack at his feet.

“Are you trying to brand me as a deserter?” He whispered, voice rasping around the knot in his throat. He never thought he would have a reason to hate the Senju more, the incandescent fury warring with the cold dread that this was finally it, he’d finally been cornered beyond escape. He could only hope his brother will still think of him fondly when his body is discovered.

If there is a body to be found.

Izuna braced himself as the Senju threw his hands up in— exasperation? Izuna squinted. Yep, he was reading that right. That arm akimbo shrug and helpless, beseeching look towards the heavens was practically textbook.

“ _No_ ,” Tobirama all but snarled. “I am not going to kill you, kidnap you, frame you, or otherwise cause you harm in a malicious manner. I— _we_ , have more important things to do. Now put some pants on, we don’t have all night.”

Izuna flushed at the reminder that he was standing there in just his sleeping kimono, but nevertheless he squared his chin and mulishly declared, “I have nothing to do with you, Senju.”

“ _Look,_ ” the Senju growled, finally losing his temper, “there’s a manipulative plant monster traipsing around with designs on your brother’s body, and I’m going to kill it. Do you want to help or not?”

A cold stone dropped into a Izuna’s gut and dragged his heart with it, leeching all the warmth and feeling from his limbs. He could hardly hear his own gasp over the buzzing in his ears. To think that all this time— such a thing was—!

“You want me to help you kill your own brother?!” He screeched, pointing in outraged horror.

“What?” The Senju drew himself up in clear offense. “What does Hashirama have to do with—” Then it clicked. His eyes went wide. “My brother’s not a plant monster!”

“Ha! You didn’t deny he has designs on my brother’s body!” Izuna crowed, punching the air. “I knew it, I knew it!”

“Hashirama would never! He’s…” A green tint was rising on the Senju’s pale face, clashing badly with his red stripes. “Married,” he finished weakly.

“Can’t even say he’s straight, can you?” Izuna cooed meanly, taking the rare opportunity to savor the Senju’s palpable discomfort. It wasn’t every day he managed to pry up the icy bastard’s composure this well. “Does the thought of him kissing Madara not _delight_ you?

“I ought to kill you for putting that in my head,” Tobirama growled, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you done snickering? We really do have to go kill this thing before it’s too late.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Izuna asked, stunned. He was pretty sure the other used to be saner than this. “You actually think there’s a plant monster running around, that isn’t your brother, that _we_ specifically need to go kill. _What are you on and where can I get some?_ ”

Tobirama gave him a flat stare. With no change in expression he pulled a storage scroll out of his pocket, flicked in open with a snap, turned it over and emptied out the chopped up remains of something organic, oozy, and stinking of rotting plant matter. The last piece to fall out and bounce off the pile was a, Izuna gulped, a head.

“What the hell is that!” Izuna cringed at it. A hardened shinobi he may be but somethings were still viscerally disgusting enough to be...icky.

“I told you; there’s a millennia old plant monster who wants your brother,” Tobirama said, eyes narrowed with annoyance. “This is one of its drone offshoots, and they’re damnably annoying to find.”

“Okay,” Izuna squeaked, “I believe you now.”

“Finally,” Tobirama muttered, rolling up the scroll and sticking it back in a pocket.

“What does it, um, what does it want with Madara?” Izuna asked, slowly, self-consciously picking up his robe. Somehow, he didn’t like the thought of being so underdressed near the ichor-dripping drone.

Tobirama paused, suddenly apprehensive, “It…” His nose scrunched and the corner of his mouth ticked up in a sneer. “It wants to drive him to madness in order for him to achieve the Rinnegan so it can stuff him with the Bijuu and recreate the legendary Ten-Tails.” Tobirama looked like he wanted to physically scrape his tongue after saying that.

There was a long drawn out silence in which the only sound was a single brave gust of wind.

“Okay,” Izuna drawled, massively uncomfortable now. “That’s some pretty drastic bodily modification.”

“So you see why we have to—”

“Can’t it just find a lover it likes for who they are instead of trying to change them?” Izuna said, steamrolling right over what was no doubt an entirely reasonable urge to hurry up and get dressed already. Because no, Izuna needed time to process this madness so he was going to inflict a little madness of his own. “Or at least dial down the what-the-fuck kinks? I mean seriously, some things are too extreme to be safe, sane, and consensual even for shinobi.”

Gratifyingly, Tobirama promptly choked and clapped a hand to his mouth.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t mean your brother?”

Tobirama snarled at him.

“Right, right, putting on pants!”


End file.
